


The Adventures of Dean and Cas

by elliex



Series: The Adventures of Dean and Cas [1]
Category: Supernatural
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-08
Updated: 2013-09-14
Packaged: 2017-12-26 00:24:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/959366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elliex/pseuds/elliex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Heaven's very interested in what's going on with Dean and Cas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the SPN Prompt "Heat"
> 
> Originally intended as a longer piece (and there is more to come). Apologies for any resulting condensing that doesn't work.
> 
> *Sept. 13, 2013 - I'm making "The Adventures of Dean and Cas" a series instead of a regular, multi-chapter work. It is in development...
> 
> Supernatural belongs to the CW, Kripke, Carver, et. al.

\+ + + + 

“NOOOO!” It was a wail heard across the roadhouse. A half-full bowl of peanuts crashed against the wall, and empty beer bottles were slammed down. 

Ellen’s voice could be heard above the din: “Ash, I am telling you now, you get –”

“Yeah, yeah,” Ash said. “Dr. BadAss is on this, amigos. Don’t sweat it.” He held the flat-screen television by its outer frame carefully, listening to something inside it as he walked his fingers across tentatively, searching. He paused, thwacked a particular spot, and adjusted the cables connecting the television to his heavenly-wired computer. 

The picture roared back, and Dean Winchester’s bloodied face filled the screen. There was no sound – Ash hadn’t figured out how to hack into those frequencies yet – but this was a story that didn’t need words. 

As an arm fell, again and again, contact being made with Dean’s eye, his nose, his cheek – everyone in the room flinched in sympathy. 

“Damn. That’s gotta sting,” Rufus said. He drained his glass and tapped it at Ash, who refilled with Johnny Walker Blue. It was all Rufus would drink now that heaven was picking up the tab.

“You think?” Ash said dryly. “Winchester’s getting his ass handed to him. Why doesn’t he gank that angel?”

“What show have you been watching, Dr. Badass?” Pamela asked. “You seriously missing _that_ much subtext?” 

“He misses everything,” Jo said to Pam. Addressing Ash, she snarked, “It’s called character development, you moron – Now, give me a beer.” She held out her hand expectantly. 

Ash looked at them both and waggled his eyebrows. “Excuse me?,” he asked. “I miss nothing – _nothing_ – but it’s seriously fun to get you fangirls riled up.” He passed Jo a PBR. 

“That the best you got?” she asked, looking at the beer with distaste. 

“My blue heaven, my drinks. Freeloaders shut their cakeholes,” he announced. “Except for Rufus, who always gets his Blue,” he added, pointing a finger at the hunter. Rufus raised his drink in thanks. 

Jo treated Ash to an exceptionally exaggerated eye-roll and joined her mother at the table nearest the television. Ellen was intently watching the violent scene, though most everyone else was no longer watching, not wanting to see the moment when Dean’s bruised soul left his broken body. 

Jo was one of those, and she picked at the beer bottle’s label instead of looking at the screen. “I can’t believe it,” she said. “After all they went through in Purgatory – we all saw how wrecked Cas was when he had to leave Dean alone, how he cried as he listened to Dean’s prayers, how –”

“Shh, JoBeth,” Ellen said, grabbing her daughter’s hand. “Something’s happening. Look.”

The smatterings of conversation that had broken out to detract from the brutal beating fell silent; if anyone had still needed to breathe, in that moment, they couldn’t have. 

They all watched as Cas freed himself from what Ash had figured out was angelic mind control. Though Ash had only been able to hack into portions of Heaven’s Big Brother system, and they hadn’t seen precisely who was controlling Cas, as Ash said, it didn’t take a genius to see that the angel was acting out of character. 

Annie cheered; she and Pamela exchanged high fives. 

Everyone leaned forward, as the scene became more intimate: Dean holding tightly to Cas’s arm; the angel tenderly cupping Dean’s face, healing him; the two standing face to face…

“Uh… should we be watching this?,” Jo asked, holding her hand in front of her eyes.

“Hell yes, we should be watching this,” Ash said. “I’m invested.” He walked out from behind the bar so he could get a better look. 

Rufus stayed where he was and squeezed his eyes shut. “I don’t want to see Dean Winchester gettin’ busy with an angel.” 

Two seconds later, Rufus cracked one eye open. “ _Is_ he gettin’ busy with the angel?”

“See for yourself, Rufus,” Ellen snapped. The older hunter muttered but opened his other eye too, keeping both trained on the screen.

“Damn, I wish we had sound,” Ash muttered. “What’s Dean saying?” He studied the man’s lips. “Oh my God,” he said. “Did Dean seriously just ask what broke the connection? I thought that boy was smart.”

Ellen shook her head. “That boy,” she said. “I could just shake him. That angel too.”

Cas disappeared, leaving Dean alone in the crypt. Sam found his brother, and both Winchesters escaped Crowley. The scene faded to black.

“Dammit,” everyone cursed in unison. Ash added on a few extra colorful words too.

“Winchester has got to have the worst case of blue balls in the history of humankind,” Ash announced. 

“Does that mean the angel has the worst case in the history of heavenkind?” Rufus asked. 

Both winced at the very idea. 

+

**Several weeks (earth time) later**

Ash was tinkering with his contraptions. He’d figured out that the “live feed” was actually Naomi’s surveillance system, which explained why they were able to watch some events unfold but not others. He still really wanted to know what had happened when Cas first appeared to Dean in the bathroom, post-Purgatory. 

The feed had become more unreliable of late, and Ash wanted it fixed, pronto.

Without the Winchester Channel, as he joking called it, Ellen was antsy – her imaginings about what Dean and Sam were dealing with were (usually) much worse than the reality. The two most important men in her life had also made their way to the Roadhouse, but even Bill and Bobby couldn’t stop her worrying.

Pamela and Annie spent way too much time hypothesizing _out loud_ about how interspecies sex – specifically, sex between angels and humans – and even more specifically, sex between Cas and Dean – might work. Even Jo had joined in on that hen fest. 

Rufus and Ash, meanwhile—well, they drank and played darts. Bobby and Bill played cards. And if any of them occasionally postulated when Destiel (Ash was proud of that portmanteau; he’d come up with it himself) might actually happen, well, they had the sense to do so where the girls couldn’t hear. 

Ash reattached the cables to the television and then adjusted some equations on his computer. “Eureka!,” he shouted when he finally managed to tap into an audio frequency. He adjusted a dial to clear out the static and froze; this wasn’t the normal Enochian chatter that ran on his heaven scanner. 

“Hey guys,” he called out.

“Yeah, Ash?,” Ellen asked. “Whatcha got?”

“Listen –” He turned the volume up. 

Rufus sighed in exasperation. “You’re the only one fluent in Enochian, genius. What are they saying?”

“It’s the angels,” Ash said. “There’s a coup underway in heaven.”

“A coup? By who?” Rufus said, grinning when he realized he’d rhymed. 

Ash leaned his head towards his amped-up computer. “Uh… Metatron? They’re saying something about Castiel too, and Dean…” He turned the volume up and listened for a few more seconds.

“Oh, shit,” he said, the color draining out of his face. 

He performed his miracle taps on the television, and the live feed came on. 

“What in the holy hell is that?,” Ellen asked.

“It’s the angels,” Ash said. “They’re falling.”

“‘Every mouse trap in the world must have snapped,’” Rufus quipped.

Ash arched an eyebrow. “Saturday Night Live? Jack Handy?,” he asked. “Really?”

Rufus shrugged. “What? They don’t look like they’re on fire to you?”

+

Ash and Bobby had immediately mobilized, bringing in as many friends and hunters as they could: Frank Devereaux, Gwen Campbell, Henry Winchester, among others – even Samuel Campbell, though not until after Bobby had damn near broke his nose. 

They had been looking for John and Mary Winchester and Adam Milligan but called off that search to focus on the task at hand: Controlling the crash and burn of heaven from the inside out. 

Ash and Frank had worked overtime to beef up their heavenly surveillance system, and make it two-way. Heaven was in a mess, and Earth wasn’t much better. 

They needed direct contact with the Winchesters to figure out what the hell to do next.

+

Sam was scrambling eggs when Dean shuffled into the kitchen, moving like a sleepwalker. He muttered something unintelligible that Sam chose to interpret as “good morning.”

“Good morning to you, too,” he said cheerfully. The narrowed and annoyed look he got in return made him reconsider his interpretation. 

Dean poured himself a mug of coffee and sat down at the table, slowly sipping at the hot liquid as he stared balefully at nothing. 

Sam pursed his lips, wondering if he should try to get Dean to talk. His brother had lost weight and had purple shadows under his eyes. Sam knew why too, but he couldn’t get Dean to admit it out loud. 

_Castiel._

Sam was worried about his friend too – Cas was _Cas_ , after all, and he belonged with them. But Dean… Dean was making himself sick. 

“Here, have some eggs,” Sam said, setting a plate in front of Dean. 

Dean pushed it away. “I’m not hungry, Sam.”

Sam bit his lip, wanting to reprimand, to curse, but knowing that neither would gain any traction with his brother. Instead, he sat down to eat his own eggs. 

A steady pulse of painfully high-pitched static filled the room. Dean’s coffee cup shattered on the floor, sending shards of glass and splashes of hot liquid flying. Sam jerked, and his forkful of eggs wound up splattered across the wall. 

Both Winchesters clapped their hands over their ears. 

“What the hell?” they shouted in unison. 

The pulse faded, and they gingerly lowered their hands. 

“What _was_ that?” Sam asked. 

“Shh,” Dean said. “Listen.” They both turned their heads, hearing voices. 

Dean silently and predatorily retrieved a spare gun and hunting knife from their respective hiding places. Sam neatly caught the knife that his brother tossed to him, and they went into recon mode, intent on surprising whomever had gotten past their wards.

Dean went first, motioning for Sam to approach from the other side. But a quick survey revealed nothing but the flickering television. 

“Maybe it was the tv?” Sam asked, a crease between his brows. 

Dean gestured at the grayscale screen. “Static, man. We heard voices.”

“So maybe we have a ghost?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “That’s all we need.” He stalked back towards the kitchen.

Sam picked up the remote to turn off the television, but the channel's static crackled and began dancing across the screen. As the frequencies calmed, they arranged themselves into forms that Sam recognized. 

“Uh, Dean?”

“Yeah,” Dean called from the kitchen.

“You need to come here. Now.”

Dean came back into the room carrying a fresh mug of coffee. “What now?,” he grumbled. 

Dean stopped short beside his brother and nearly dropped this mug too. Sam’s eyes were huge. 

“Well, hey there, boys,” Ellen drawled, smiling warmly at them from the screen. 

“What--?,” Dean asked.

“How--?,” Sam asked.

“It’s a long story,” Ellen said. 

Ash pushed in beside her, “That’s right, boys, it’s a long story, and we don’t have time for all that today.”

“Dr. Badass,” Dean said. "I should've known."

“At your service, as always,” Ash said with a flourish that made Sam laugh.

Ash quickly explained how he and Frank – who waved from behind Ash – had rigged up a two-way communication system so they could reach the Winchesters. 

“Things are a mess up here,” Ash said. “Absolute chaos,” Ellen added.

“They’re a mess down here, too,” Sam said. 

A familiar face pushed Ash out of the way. “What in the hell is going on down there?,” Bobby asked. 

“Bobby!,” Sam and Dean said simultaneously. 

“It's good to see you, old man,” Dean said with the first genuine smile Sam had seen in days. 

“Yeah, Bobby, it is,” Sam added.

“It’s good to see you idgits too,” Bobby said smiling. “Now, who broke heaven?”

When Dean looked down at the floor and wouldn’t answer, Sam jumped in and told Bobby what he knew. 

“So how’s Cas?,” Bobby asked. 

“We don’t know,” Dean answered, as if the words were torn from him. Sam could see the stark worry etched on his brother’s face. A glance at the television told him Bobby could see the worry too. 

“Oh, I can help you there, brother,” Ash called out. He came back to the screen and squeezed in between Ellen and Bobby. “I got the 411 on Castiel’s location.”

“What?,” Dean asked. “Where is he?”

“According to the latest intel, he’s in Portland, Oregon,” Ash said. “Looks like he’s in some kind of tent city or homeless shelter.”

“How old is your latest intel?,” Dean asked, his eyes narrowed in strategizing mode. 

“Less than 48 hours, dude,” Ash said. “I am re-li-a-ble. Go get your angel, and then I’ll explain what we’re doing and how.”

“We’re going. Get ready, Sam,” Dean ordered, leaving the room at a brisk pace. 

“Ash, you’d better know what you’re talking about or I’m coming to heaven just to kick your ass,” Sam said levelly. 

"I'd expect nothing else," Ash said with a serious nod before going back to work. 

“Dean’s taken this all pretty hard, hasn’t he?,” Ellen asked. 

“That’s putting it mildly,” Sam replied. 

“You idgits take care of each other,” Bobby said. “Oh, and uh, Sam?”

“Yeah, Bobby?”

“If you had to bet, what would you say that Dean will do he sees Cas?”

“Huh?,” Sam asked. “What do you mean?”

Bobby squirmed and started to speak. “Are you trying to stack the odds?” Ash yelled from across the bar. 

“No! Shut-up,” Bobby snapped. 

Ellen rolled her eyes. “Ignore them, Sam. There’s just a little heavenly betting going on.”

“Betting?” Sam asked, thoroughly confused. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Ellen and Bobby shared guilty glances. “Well, uh, see –” Bobby stammered. Jo interrupted by sticking her head over her mom’s shoulder and grinning at Sam.

“Hey Jo,” Sam said smiling briefly. “Look, guys, I can’t even tell you how good it is to see everyone.” Sam paused, his voice thick with emotion. “But what are you up to about Dean and Cas?”

Jo rolled her eyes. “Come on, Sam. Even you have to see what’s going on.”

Sam’s cheeks burned. “I see what I see,” he snapped. “How are you seeing anything?”

“We don’t mean anything by it, honey,” Ellen said. “And don’t worry; we don’t see everything – just whatever the angels are watching, Ash’s system picks up too. Right now, that means we don’t have access to a lot.”

“So the angels are interested in Dean and Cas?,” Sam asked, not surprised. 

“It’s their _Days of our Lives_ , apparently,” Bobby said. “Now, if you were betting…” Sam raised his eyebrows at the man. Bobby shrugged. “There’s a bottle of Johnny Walker Blue in it for me.” 

“Rufus is in on this too?,” Sam asked, surprised. 

“Hell yeah,” yelled Rufus and walked up behind Bobby. “Hiya Sam. Now, tell us: punch, kiss, hug, or tears – what’s it gonna be?”

They all looked expectantly at Sam, who swallowed hard. God, he did not want any part of this. 

Right then, Dean came barreling through the room. “Move your ass, Sam,” he growled, throwing his duffel by the stairs and heading for the weapons cabinet. 

"Gotta go, guys,” Sam said, thankful for Dean’s impeccable timing.

“Yeah, we’ll be in touch when we get back,” Dean yelled from across the room, punctuating his words with the loud clunks and clinks of metal hitting metal as he filled his weapons bag.

Sam grinned and pressed the remote’s “off” button, not feeling the least bit sorry at turning them off.

“I said move, Sam.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sam said. But he hurried, as much for his own sake as Dean’s.

+

It took three days to track Cas down, and they almost didn’t. They had come up with nothing, and the leads were running cold. Their last interview had been pointless, and as they left the restaurant and headed towards the Impala, Dean desperately tried to keep his face neutral, to not show how shattered he felt. He was pretty sure Sam knew anyway; he glanced over. Yeah, cue the big puppy dog eyes. Sam knew. _Dammit_.

The sound of brakes squealing caught Dean’s attention; he turned as a Kia swerved into a fire hydrant to avoid hitting a biker. The car crumpled like an accordion. 

“And that, Sam, is what people get for buying—”

Dean lost the rest of the sentence. He lost all awareness of the world as his attention narrowed to a single, pinprick of focus: A dark-haired man wearing cargo pants and a hoodie, sitting on the ground, head leaned back against the alley’s cement wall, eyes shut. 

Dean ran across the street, oblivious to the angry drivers who blew their horns at him. 

\+ 

Sam hadn’t understood why Dean broke off his sentence, why his face went still, why his eyes widened. He followed his brother’s line of sight and saw a guy sitting in the alley. He squinted, looking closer – dark hair, set of the jaw. Was that Cas?

Dean seemed to think so, taking off at a run. Sam stood at the Impala, watching and waiting. Whether it was Cas or not, Dean was going to need some space. 

“Cas,” Dean yelled. 

The man opened his eyes, and even from where he stood, Sam could see their blue. It was Cas.

Sam felt like he shouldn’t be watching whatever was unfolding, and he averted his eyes only to look back again. How could he _not_ watch this?

+

The television in the Roadhouse roared to life. Bobby was closest, and he realized that the heavenly eye was on Dean and – holy hell, was that Cas?

“It’s _The Adventures of Dean and Cas_ , y’all,” he yelled. By the time Dean crossed the street, everyone in the roadhouse was crowded around the television. 

Dean grabbed Cas by the coat collar and pulled him to his feet. He yelled something and then swung, his fist connecting with Cas’s jaw. 

“Told ya,” Rufus grinned, toasting Dean with his half-full glass. 

Cas swung back, making contact with Dean’s left cheek. 

“Angel or not, he always did have a good right hook,” Bobby observed. 

The two men weren’t fighting now; they just stared at each other. Dean closed the distance between them, pulling Cas into a tight hug. 

The intensity between the two men – well, all joking in the Roadhouse stopped. 

“Maybe we shouldn’t watch this,” Bobby said, feeling his face flush as the full-body hug continued. 

“Perk of being dead, man,” Ash said. “They can bitch about it when they get here.”

+

Dean pulled back from Cas just enough to take his friend’s face in his hands, to run his fingers over his cheekbones, over the bruise already blossoming across his jawline. 

Cas dug his fingers into Dean’s back. “Is it really you?,” he asked. 

“Yeah,” Dean muttered. “Where the hell have you been, man?”

“Everywhere,” Cas said softly. “Nowhere.”

Dean couldn’t manage more than a ragged breath. He leaned his forehead against Cas’s, tried to calm himself. Then he noticed how shallow Cas’s breath was and how it was ghosting across Dean’s face, across his lips. 

Without thinking, Dean pressed his lips to Cas’s, soft and chaste. He tasted the salt from someone’s tears – whose, he didn’t know. It didn’t matter.

Dean let Cas walk him back against the cement wall, green meeting blue in a silent conversation of _I’m going to kick your ass_ ; _I need you_ ; _I'm sorry_ ; _I missed you_. 

When Cas’s lips returned to his own, there was nothing soft or chaste about it, and both were lost to the deepening kiss until the pulsing dance of their tongues was all they knew. 

\+ 

Sam’s cheeks burned as he watched his brother and Cas. If he’d ever had any doubts about how hot that profound bond ran, well… they were nothing but cinders now. 

\+ 

The Roadhouse erupted into cheers. Ash jumped up on the bar and threw his arms wide: “Everybody wins and drinks are on the house,” he declared.

+

When Dean and Cas finally pulled apart, Dean intertwined their fingers. 

“Come on, Cas. We’re going home.”

Cas started to say something, but Dean cut him off. “Yeah, yeah, we’ve got a shit-ton to deal with and talk about, blah, blah, blah. But we’re going to do it together, you understand me? No more of this running away shit.”

Cas ducked his head in an all-too human gesture that tugged at Dean's heart.

“Okay,” he said quietly, tightening his hold on Dean’s hand. 

They walked towards the Impala and Sam, who was giving them two thumbs up and grinning like a madman. 

As if on cue, Dean and Cas rolled their eyes, and Dean flipped his brother off. He couldn’t help grinning, though, when Sam erupted into a throaty, belly-deep laugh, a sound Dean hadn’t heard in years. He looked over at Cas, who was smiling too. 

Maybe they’d make it through this apocalypse intact after all.

+

**may be continued...**


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam, Dean, and Cas make their way back to the bunker. Heaven's still watching, though the folks upstairs don't get to see as much as some would like.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the SPN Prompt "Colors"
> 
> To make posting easier, I'm making "The Adventures of Dean and Cas" a series instead of a typical multi-chapter work. This "chapter" is being cross-posted as Chapter 2 here, and as the second work in the series. To all of the lovely subscribers, I hope that you'll get the updated section this time; next time, I'll update the series with a third work, instead of adding a third chapter.
> 
> Also, I'm still learning Ao3, so just let me know if there are any problems. Sorry for any confusion!
> 
> Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy it!

\+ + + + + 

Cas leaned his head against the window and watched the rippling reflection of I-84 East in the Impala’s sleek black curves. 

“Cas, you okay?,” Dean asked, watching Cas in the rearview. He nodded. 

“Get some sleep if you can,” Dean said. “I know this driving straight through sucks, but you’ll be safer at the bunker.” 

“I know,” Cas said quietly. He looked back out the window, noting the yellow-tinged grey of the dawn-lit landscape. 

He knew that Dean was still watching him. Cas shut his eyes and willed himself to sleep. 

When he woke, Sam was driving, and Dean was passed out in the passenger seat. 

“Hey, Cas,” Sam said. “You’ve been asleep for hours. Do you need me to stop?”

Cas had to pause a moment to consider the human urges that now dictated his state of being. “Yes,” he finally said. “I think that I do.”

“Sure thing,” Sam said, a small smile playing on his lips. Cas briefly wondered what Sam found amusing before finding his attention consumed by the realization that his bladder was most definitely full. 

The five minutes it took Sam to pull off at the rest stop were agony for the former angel. 

+

Sam’s chuckling woke Dean up. “What’s going on?,” he asked. 

“You missed Cas’s pee-pee dance,” Sam said. 

“Huh?”

“He woke up a few minutes ago and immediately had to pee. I thought the guy was going to fall he was running to the restroom so fast – hence, you missed his pee-pee dance.”

Dean narrowed his eyes at Sam. “Not funny,” he said evenly. 

Sam raised his eyebrows. “Yeah, it kind of is,” he retorted. 

“No, it’s not,” Dean snapped. “You’re talking about Cas, former angel of the lord, dude who could knit our broken bones back together with a flick of his finger, overwhelmed with the base human urge to pee – think about what that’s like for him, Sam. As much as he might love humanity, I seriously doubt he expected this would be the result of helping us.” 

“C’mon Dean, I didn’t mean anything,” Sam protested. 

“I know you didn’t. But that still doesn’t excuse being an empathy-lacking jackass.” And with that, Dean got out of the car and slammed the door, heading towards the restroom. 

+

Cas was washing his hands and looking at his reflection when Dean walked in. Their eyes met briefly in the mirror. Dean looked away shyly and went into a stall. He chose not to think about why he wasn’t using a urinal or why he’d broken eye contact first. 

When he came out, Cas was gently touching the blackish blue bruise spreading along his jawline. Dean saw it and winced. 

“I’m sorry for that,” he said. He washed his hands and face in the sink beside of Cas. 

“Yeah?,” Cas asked.

“Yeah,” Dean said. “I shouldn’t have hit you; I just –”

Cas ended Dean’s ability to speak by reaching for his right hand and holding it between his own. He ran his fingers over Dean’s tanned skin, the wrinkles at his knuckles, the heavy sprinkling of freckles, and the abrasion where his fist had made contact with Cas’s jaw. 

Dean stared as Cas looked up at him with those cosmically blue eyes and brought Dean’s hand up to his mouth, placing a light kiss on the red and broken skin. The touch pinged every nerve ending Dean possessed, and based on the flush rising in Cas’s cheeks, Dean figured he was similarly affected. 

He slipped his arms around Cas and pulled him close, chest to chest, hip to hip. Dean couldn’t help groaning softly. Cas couldn’t help the noticeable hitch in his breathing. 

Yep, Dean determined. Similarly affected indeed. 

Dean softly kissed the bruise. “I am sorry, Cas,” he said, leaning his forehead against his friend’s. He closed his eyes and tightened his arms, feeling Cas lean into him. The sensation of Cas’s arms wrapping around him generated a warmth and sense of safety that Dean had rarely felt in his life.

When Dean finally opened his eyes, he half expected to see the world dancing in a kaleidoscope of sparkling lights and warm hues, but they were in a standard, boring public restroom with gray tiled floor and stalls and uniform white sinks. 

“We probably need to get back to the car,” he said, rubbing his hand along Cas’s lower back. Cas winced. 

Dean frowned. “What’s wrong?,” he asked. 

“I hurt my back the other day,” Cas said, shrugging. “It’s a little sore, but it’s fine.” 

“You sure?”

Cas rolled his eyes. “Yes,” he said shortly. Dean opened his mouth to demand that Cas show him the injury but stopped himself, remembering what he’d told Sam. 

“Okay then,” he said instead. They were walking out of the restroom hand-in-hand when Cas suddenly stopped.

“What?,” Dean asked. 

“You apologized for hitting me,” Cas said.

“Uh – yeah?”

“So do I need to apologize for hitting you?,” Cas asked quite seriously. “Does your bruise hurt?” He reached over and ran his finger along Dean’s cheekbone, which was still red from Cas’s well-placed swing. 

Dean winced slightly at the touch but laughed. “Nah, Cas, I’d forgotten about it. Besides, if you’re not sorry, you shouldn’t apologize – and are you sorry?”

“Not exactly,” Cas said, a smile lurking at the edge of his lips. 

Dean laughed loudly. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Let’s get back on the road, you cheeky bastard.” 

+

Sam paced the picnic area, a restful spot with real grass and bordered by crepe myrtles. He debated whether or not he should go after his brother and Cas when he saw them coming out of the building. He squinted – were they holding hands? 

_They were._

Huh.

Okay, that’s a good sign, he thought. But he forcibly pushed his mind away from the tempting question of what had been taking so long in that _very_ public restroom. 

He did not need to know. _Ever._

After Cas got into the backseat, Sam tossed the keys to Dean. He told himself not to say anything, but he couldn’t help baiting Dean: “You sure took long enough,” Sam said. 

Dean gave him _that_ look. The one that usually preceded stories that had scarred Sam’s psyche in some form or fashion. 

But instead of a lewd comment, Dean simply said, grinning, “You can’t hurry love, Sammy.”

Dean slipped in behind the wheel and shut the door, leaving Sam standing there dumbfounded. As Sam claimed his usual passenger seat, he wondered if his brother had any idea just how different this thing with Cas _was._

+

Three beer bottles clinked together as Jo, Annie, and Pamela celebrated the steadily progressing relationship between Cas and Dean. 

“Did you see the way Cas kissed his hand?” Pamela asked fanning herself. “Man, I thought Grumpy was hot, but that angel may just take the cake…”

Jo sighed. “I can’t even believe this is the Dean who tried to pull the “last night on earth” crap on me.” 

Annie took a long sip of her beer. “Is it wrong that I hope heaven keeps watching them?”

“Yes,” Bobby said gruffly, dropping a stack of books on the table. “Now, you hens stop gawking over Dean and Cas and get to researching.”

“Fine,” Annie said, setting her beer aside. “What are we looking for now, boss?”

“We’re searching for the spell that Metatron used.”

“Isn’t Kevin translating the tablet?,” Jo asked.

“Yeah, but we don’t know that the spell is on it, and we don’t time to wait on prophet boy,” Bobby answered. “So, get to searching.”

The three women grumbled good-naturedly, but they each grabbed a book and got started. 

Every time Bobby saw one glance at the dark television, sigh, and turn back to her reading, he just shook his head. If Ash didn’t shut down Big Brother soon, somebody was going to wind up dead when Dean finally made his way to heaven.

He happily poured himself another helping of Johnny Walker Blue, though. God bless the boy for punching the angel before he kissed him. 

+

Things were quiet at the bunker. They’d had a midnight dinner of cold pizza, courtesy of Kevin, who was already in bed, and then Sam had gone directly to bed. Dean bet he hadn’t even bothered taking his shoes off before collapsing. 

Dean showed Cas to his room and noticed how stiffly the other man was moving. 

“Your back still hurting?,” he asked. 

“Yeah,” Cas said, nodding. 

Dean stepped to his room and came back with a small bag. “Don’t you dare tell Sam or he’ll call me an old man for sure.”

“I don’t even know that is, Dean,” Cas said with a tired smile.

“Epsom salts with relaxing eucalyptus,” Dean muttered. “It helps aches and pains. Come on, let’s draw you a bath.” 

Dean led Cas to the bunker’s private bathroom, which housed an oversized bathtub unlike the regular shower room. He got the water started and dumped in the salts. “Uh – just don’t let the water get too hot or run over, okay? You want it warm but not so warm that it makes you sick.”

Cas nodded, and with his usual lack of modesty, began undressing. 

Dean’s cheeks reddened, and he headed for the door. “I’ll get you some ibuprofen too. That’ll help with the –” He stopped talking when he looked at the mirror. 

Cas was facing the bath, naked from the waist up, his back reflected.

But it wasn’t the bareness of Cas’s back that caught Dean’s attention – or, at least not entirely. It was the massive bruising covering his friend’s lower back, vivid shades of blue, purple, and green with starbursts of petechiae.

“Holy shit,” Dean breathed. He reached out and turned Cas around, yanking down the top of his cargo pants. “What the hell happened to you?,” he asked, running his fingers lightly over the area. “Why didn’t you tell us that you were hurt?”

“It’s just bruising,” Cas said. He cut off Dean’s protest. “My friends at the shelter took me to an emergency clinic, and the doctor said that my organs were fine, but that it would hurt like hell.” He paused. “It doesn’t hurt like hell, as we both know. But I admit that it does hurt.”

“Tell me what happened,” Dean said.

Cas shrugged again, wincing as the movement stretched his sore muscles. “There was a fight and a fall, and that was about it.”

“That’s all you’re going to tell me?”

“There’s not much else to tell,” Cas said simply. 

“I don’t believe that,” Dean said, walking over to the tub and turning off the water. “You need to get in. I’ll leave the room –”

“I’m not shy,” Cas said, his eyes twinkling. He dropped his jeans and boxers in one swift movement, and – well – Dean was definitely lightheaded now. 

Cas walked over to the tub, moaning as he gingerly lowered himself into the water. “I don’t think this is going to work, Dean,” he said. 

“Your back is too sore for the tub, isn’t it?” Dean asked, biting his lip when Cas nodded. Other than the salts and maybe some other home remedies, he didn’t know what would help. 

“Okay, let me think a minute,” Dean said. As the idea came to him, he wondered if his intentions were pure, but decided not to question too far. 

“Let’s try this,” Dean said, taking off his own shirts and jeans. 

He laughed at Cas’s raised eyebrow. “Don’t worry, your virtue is safe with me,” Dean said. “I’ll even leave on my boxers as proof.”

Cas tilted his head. “That’s disappointing.” He smiled as the weight of his words hit Dean. The hunter’s cheeks flushed, and his green eyes darkened, conveying a look that momentarily made Cas forget entirely about his injured back. 

“I’ll remember you said that,” Dean said, his voice husky and thick.

“Promises, promises,” Cas said with a wicked grin that grew wider when he glanced down at the tented front of Dean’s boxers. 

Dean muttered a “god help me” before climbing into the tub behind Cas, letting his friend lean against his chest. 

“Better?” 

“Much,” Cas said, leaning against Dean’s chest and shutting his eyes. The warm salt water surrounded and soothed both of them. Dean leaned his head back and focused on the lapping of the hot water against his legs, the aquamarine tile that led up to the white ceiling. He focused on everything but Cas’s skin against his own, of Cas’s own obvious arousal. 

Comforted by the warm water and Dean’s steady presence, Cas quickly fell asleep. Dean found it easier to ignore his physical cravings then; he wanted Cas wide awake for their first time. He shut his own eyes and let himself doze off. 

When Dean woke up, the water was tepid and murky. He roused Cas, who had been sleeping soundly. 

“Sorry, Cas,” he said softly. “Let’s get you to bed.” Cas allowed Dean to ease them both out of the tub and to dry him off. Dean took extra care to avoid applying unnecessary pressure to the still-scary-looking bruising, even when he was applying arnica gel. He wrapped Cas in a soft, buttery-yellow towel that Dean had purchased himself and gave his friend three ibuprofens and a small glass of water. Only half-aware, Cas obediently downed the pills. 

Wrapped in his own towel, Dean took Cas to his room, which was across the hall from Dean’s own. He helped Cas into a pair of pajama pants and a t-shirt, and Cas collapsed into the bed. He was asleep before Dean could cover him with the comforter.

Dean brushed his lips softly across Cas's forehead and reluctantly went to his own room. 

+

Sam was up early the next morning, and he headed straight for the showers to wash off two days of road dirt and grime. Sam noticed that the door to the private bath was open, and the light was on. 

He stepped into the room to turn the light off, and froze at the sight of faded blue denim, green cargo pants, plaid shirts clashing blue and green against red and gray, a red hoodie, t-shirts and boxers in whites and greys. 

The jumble of colors and patterns was surreal against the wall's aquamarine tile and the ebony floor. 

Sam decided that surreal was all he could handle before 7 o'clock in the morning. He resolutely flipped out the light and firmly shut the door. 

+

**For more, please subscribe to the series The Adventures of Dean and Cas; that's where future bits will be posted. Thanks!**


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